Red Bricks of Babel
by DaisyDoom
Summary: Formerly "Mosaic." There's an addition to the CBI family. A woman with a past. She has walls built so high around her heart they might not be scalable. Good thing our favorite consultant is more of a demolition kind of guy.
1. Chapter 1

**The title "Red Bricks of Babel" was inspired by the new Mumford and Sons album and song "Babel," in which the singer writes about tearing the walls that we have built so high down.**

**Mentalist OC. GASP! I know, there's only like two in this whole fandom! For very good reason though and I will be the first to admit that. The Mentalist is written fantastically and the characters are so beautifully developed that the fandom doesn't really need an OC. But I wrote one just for the fun of it.**

**This fic is a mix of genres Romance/Family/Drama/Action/Comedy etc.**

**Start this fic out pretty light but it can get a little dramatic; above all I wanted to stick to the feel of the show.**

**I tried to keep the feel as true to the show as possible and the characters as in-character as possible. It is my greatest distress to start reading a fic with potential that's characters are OOC. I apologize if that's you, but I am far too in love with these characters to start changing them.**

**After much debate, this fic takes place roughly in the beginning of season 2. I felt like it would allow me to play with the episodes and cases without worrying about major spoilers for those who might not be that far in yet.**

**Let me finish this A/N by saying, yes this is a Jane/OC fic. BUT I am a HUGE HUGE HUGE Jisbon fan. Because I don't like messing with the characters personalities, I also don't like messing with their intrapersonal dynamics. I do believe that they will be together one day and have faith that the writers will do it splendidly so I personally don't feel the need to mess with that. (AGAIN not offending Jisbon writers! Lord knows I've read my fair share of Jisbon fics; simply put, I personally don't want to mess with it.)**

**No, I do not own the Mentalist or any of its characters, as I believe I have clearly stated previously but will say again for good measure.**

**On with the show.**

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><p><em>Press my nose up to the glass around your heart,<em>

_I should've known I was weaker from the start._

_You'll build your walls and I will play my bloody part,_

_To tear, tear them down._

_-"Babel" _Mumford and Sons

* * *

><p>Chapter 1:<p>

_Shelter also gave their shade,_

_But in the dark I have no name._

_-Hopeless Wanderer_

* * *

><p>It was THAT feeling.<p>

Jane would, until the day he dies, deny being psychic. Why? Because to quote the blonde man in question: "there's no such thing as psychics."

But Patrick Jane could never deny the authenticity of that particular feeling. The one that stirs your insides and makes the microscopic hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Call it a psychic hunch but he knew better.

And it was THAT feeling that he was having right now.

Patrick Jane was being watched.

Jane was lounging in the CBI break room.

Leisurely leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, his tea on the table before him, he held his book out, completely eclipsing his face. He only pretended to be enraptured by the Shakespearean sonnets as he actively perceived what was going on around him.

The consultant didn't take too kindly to being watched. He was the watcher, not the watchee, and that was just the way of things; he had no intention of allowing the simple laws of Jane-related physics to be broken.

Jane lowered his book just enough to peek over the top, hoping to catch the perp mid-stare. No one.

He could've sworn he felt the stare from directly in front of him. Confused, he turned in his chair to look behind him and to his sides. No one.

Sighing, he returned to his previous position at the table.

Jane was completely taken off guard though and could not hold back the startled gasp that left his mouth.

There, right in front of him, though significantly further down than he had originally expected, was the perpetrator. Big, golden brown eyes stared back at him.

A tiny girl (he suspected around the age of five) with jet black curls sat in the chair across from him, staring at him intently with nary an expression on her lovely face.

At this point Jane felt rather silly (even more so than normal) for being taken so off guard by such a tiny thing. Jane chuckled in surprise. He put his book down on the table, careful not to upset his tea, and leaned forward to address the little girl.

The child also leaned forward attentively.

"Hmm… You look innocent enough, but before I let my guard down," Jane started playfully, "I need to ask you some preliminary questions." He paused for effect, changing his expression to one of feaux seriousness. "Are you, or have you ever been involved in international, political espionage?"

The girl stared blankly at him in response, no expression on her petite face.

Jane would not be deterred.

"I see..." He made a show of grabbing at an imaginary tablet to scribble out his observations, in mock-interrogation form. So absorbed in fake note taking, he didn't even notice the girl reach out into the air for her own imaginary tablet and mirror his movements to a t.

"Are you or have you ever been a member of the Justice League or the Avengers?"

He asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

He noted mentally that the little girl never once broke eye contact or made any facial expression changes, other than to narrow her own golden eyes back at him.

He licked the end of his imaginary pen theatrically, preparing to take more "notes" and watched in amusement as the tiny thing before him licked her own "pen."

If not for her dancing eyes, Jane wouldn't know what to think. Despite her serious, unchanging expression, however, Jane could practically see the gears in her apparently intelligent brain moving and her delight in finding a marvelous game through those ever-shifting eyes.

He was determined to win this game.

The unspoken challenge was obvious to its players and Jane was ready for it. Some might call him childish for his whole-hearted participation, but since when did he care about the opinions of such uppity critics. He didn't.

Jane clapped his hands quickly, watching the girl, though slightly startled by the sudden movement, clap back. He continued and she mirrored quickly and precisely every following movement, very good at this game.

Jane made a quick decision to up the ante and made his next moves very quick and sudden.

Lean back.

Cross legs.

Uncross legs.

Lift hands in mock roller coaster ride.

Shuffle feet.

Snap fingers.

Pound fists on the table.

He then suddenly shot out his chair, standing so abruptly that his seat fell over backwards. The little girl, mimicked expertly, never breaking into a smile.

The consultant pretended not to notice that his chair was no longer present and he went to sit back down, quickly tumbling and flailing onto his back side and splayed out dramatically across the floor.

Though he could no longer see her, he heard a light but hysterical giggle come from her direction and he smiled triumphantly for his spot on the dirty tile.

"Aha! I win." Jane said sitting up, pointing at the girl and grinning like a child himself.

The little girl laughed harder, making up for the lack of expression she had previously held so strong.

Again Jane was taken off guard (that was happening a lot lately) when another, unfamiliar but not unpleasant, laugh joined the child's.

He looked up and behind him to see a pretty, petite woman leaning against the door-frame, arms crossed, ankles crossed and gazing contently upon the scene, a delighted smile spread across her face at the child's amusement.

"Mommy!" The previously straight-faced little girl squealed and ran to leap into her awaiting mother's arms. Jane watched with mixed emotions at the display of affection shown between mother and child. He smiled at the sweet moment but could not suppress that twinge of sadness that accompanied it. When would he be able to see any mother/child combination without feeling that?

He shrugged off the feeling and rose abruptly to his feet as the woman planted a loving kiss to the still-giggling child's cheek and rubbed her back affectionately.

Jane took the tender moment to revert back to his normal role as observer. The woman before him in looks alone was not as he had heard it called "stop-traffic gorgeous," but no one could deny that the petite figure was quite pretty. It was in her countenance and how she carried herself, however, that made her truly a thing to behold.

Her figure was doubtless quite petite. Without the assistance of her tall heels, he would contend that she was significantly shorter than even their tiny but fearless leader Agent Lisbon. But the woman stood metaphorically tall. Even with the child in her arms, she held her back straight as a pin, shoulders squared without even a hint of a slouch. Her black pencil skirt and white sleeveless collared button-up said she meant business while her blue-suede pumps and shaggy-fem pixie cut suggested that she had a more playful side that would sneak it's way into situations rather than broadcast itself.

Jane observed that she wore very little make-up and did not over-accessorize as he noticed many women often do. Her simple mascara'd lashes and gold-studded earrings spoke of a confidence that didn't need embellishment.

Though her hair matched identically the color's of the child she held, he took note that the little girl must've inherited her father's eyes. The pair's eyes couldn't be more dissimilar. The girl's were a shiny golden brown, a depth that Jane found from their game could be easily read. The mother's eyes, however were as dark as her hair. In his quick observation, and in the low lighting of the break room, he found that he could not distinguish where the woman's pupils ended and her irises began, the color appearing solid, rather than two-toned.

Jane accepted the unreadability of her eyes as a challenge.

"She get away from you again Wayne?"

The woman's eyes turned towards the opposite entrance as Wayne Rigsby walked in, a relieved look on his face. He passed by Jane, still standing by his overturned chair, to address the pair.

He leaned down, eye-level to the child smiling admonishingly at her while addressing her mother.

"One minute Miss Sophie is right beside me playing detective and the next she is no where to be found."

"I was interrogating the suspect," she responded very matter-of-factly.

Jane grinned, very impressed by the little one's annunciation.

"Speaking of the suspect," he finally decided to speak up. He reached out his hand to the woman to introduce himself.

"Im-"

"Oh gosh! How rude of me," she interrupted, shifting her child to her hip as to free her right hand to shake the consultant's.

"Abigail. And your interrogator here is Sophie."

Sophie smiled at him in greeting.

"And you must be…" she drew out the word "be" looking quite thoughtful.

"Sam Bosco!" she smiled innocently, "Wayne has told me so much about you."

For just a moment, Jane was one step behind and his face showed it. Sam Bosco? That was absurd! No one could mistake him for the no-nonsense Sam Bosco! Then, the absurdity of it all truly hit him. The player was being played.

He glanced at Rigsby to see the tall man trying, and failing, to contain his mirth, practically biting his lips not to smile. Then, he looked back to Abigail and couldn't help but smile and laugh as she grinned knowingly back at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Of course I know who you are Mr. Jane. You could hardly be mistaken for anyone else, splayed across the floor like that."

Jane shrugged and nodded good naturedly, knowing how his unorthodox reputation preceded him.

"Jane," Rigsby said, seeming to remember himself and placing his hand to Abigail's back. "This is my sister-in-law and niece. They just moved here from New York where Abby worked with the NYPD as an undercover agent."

"Ah," Jane said rocking back on his heels, satisfied to have to puzzle of their relationship in order. Jane couldn't stifle his further curiosity though as his eyes wandered quickly to see a naked ring finger. In the place where a ring would normally be to garner the title "in-law" was a small tattoo of a capital, scripted "T."

"It was a pleasure to meet the famous Patrick Jane, but we really must be going," Abigail said looking to her daughter. "I'm afraid someone has already stayed up past bed-time one too many times this week."

Jane laughed at the un-hidden grimace that crossed the child's face.

"An agent with a bed-time? Preposterous. You have rights you know?" Jane said in mock-seriousness to Sophie, who giggled in return.

"Let me walk you out Abby."

"Thank you Wayne. Good-bye Mr. Jane. Thank you for entertaining my daughter." He nodded and smiled again as if to say it was no trouble. She smiled at him one last time before turning on her heels and heading towards the exit.

"See ya tomorrow," Rigsby waved to Jane before following the pair out.

Jane continued to smile at their retreating forms until they were out of sight. He then righted the overturned chair and sat back down crossing his legs. He grabbed for his cup of tea, taking a big sip and nearly gagged. Cold. He had been taken off guard one too many times tonight.

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><p><strong>Let me know what you think.<strong>

**Seriously, I would really appreciate it.**

**Fo reals.**

**Please and thank you.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I decided to set this more or less towards the beginning of season 2 for reasons that I can take a few more plot liberties without it getting extremely complicated.**

**Please continue to let me know how I'm doing on creating a realist OC, as well as keeping our favorite characters IN character. I hope I'm doing them justice. This chapter is still mainly character development, which I find extremely fun. I will be digging into the plot within the next few though.**

**I obviously don't own the Mentalist (except for the DVDs themselves) and if I did Jane and Lisbon would have been together long ago but alas, I shall continue waiting…**

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><p><em>Press my nose up to the glass around your heart,<em>

_I should've known I was weaker from the start._

_You'll build your walls and I will play my bloody part,_

_To tear, tear them down._

_-"Babel" _Mumford and Sons

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><p>Chapter 2:<p>

_There'll be no comfort in the shade_

_of the shadows thrown._

_-_Lover of the Light

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><p>Monday morning, Abigail Rigsby strode down the hallway of the CBI building towards her desk. She ran her right hand over her short hair and gave out a very unladylike sigh, pushing her cheeks out, the air expelling loudly from between her red-painted lips. This morning had been especially tough for her.<p>

It was six-thirty in the morning and Abigail had already been awake for an hour. She continued to lay in bed, however, gazing in wonder at the sleeping figure before her.

Abby had often speculated that if there were such a thing as curses, she would put money down saying that her life were under one. Life had never really been kind to her, and it seemed as if any time she had been given a glimpse of happiness and peace it had been stolen as quickly as it had been received.

The wonder of the sleeping child before her, though, contradicted all of that. The simple life of her daughter made her question instead if the universe simply had a very specific and round-about way of blessing her. Of every suffering she had experienced, so much good had come that she couldn't bring herself to regret any of it.

Well, all except one very specific instance, she thought soberly.

She was grasping her pillow tightly and she slowly released her hands to shift her eyes to the small "T" tattoo that adorned her bare ring finger. She watched as the light streaming through the window created contrast on her fingers; a slight turn of her hand and the "T" would shift from being brightly illuminated to gone, disappearing beneath the shadows. The visual metaphor wasn't lost on her and she began to feel that familiar lump form in her throat.

Strong, she reminder herself. Abigail quickly swallowed the sadness and gently stroked Sophie's curls, before throwing the covers off of herself and climbing out of bed.

She circled to the other side to plant a kiss on her daughters cheek before moving into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

An hour or so later, Abby was putting the final touches to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and placing it lovingly within a bright pink lunch box along with some of Sophie's favorite snacks.

Abby looked up as she heard fast and loud footsteps on the hardwood floor of their apartment signaling the girl in question's grand entrance.

Sophie ran out from behind the corner stopping abruptly in her tiny Chuck Taylors, thumbs hooked under the straps of her backpack in a pose so regal, it would give Superman a run for his money.

The proud mother's breath caught in her throat somewhere between a laugh and a cry, the latter of which she quickly pushed aside.

"Ready to catch that bus Wonder Woman?"

"I'm not taking the bus!" Sophie shouted making her mother look up at her in question, her eyebrows knit in confusion. Fit-throwing was so unlike her daughter.

"I'm flying to school!"

At this Abigail's face split into a smile and she gave a light laugh at her child's antics. Now that's more like it.

"Well you don't want the whole school to know your secret identity. Don't you think flying will give you away?" She asked, coming around the kitchen counter to take her Sophie's hand in one of her own and the lunch box in her other.

They continued their conversation as they walked out of the door and down stairs to the parking lot to see that the shiny yellow school bus was just turning in.

"Hmm…" Sophie put a finger to her chin in thought as she pondered the question.

"I suppose it would be wise of me to take the bus.

…for your safety," she added as an afterthought.

Abby knelt down in front of her daughter as the bus came to a stop and opened it's doors in wait.

"Of course," she said. "Always looking out for your momma, aren't you kiddo?"

"Well, somebody's got to," Sophie responded in feign seriousness.

Abby smiled and tucked some stray curls behind her daughters ear. Sometimes she just wondered at the tiny girl's intelligence. So smart and grown up for a five-year-old.

"Now don't forget to take care of yourself too Wonder Woman," she said trying to hold her tears at bay. She still couldn't believe her little girl was starting school.

Not many people could read the emotions of Abigail Rigsby, but the little girl could. And boy did she read her like a book.

Sophie's face sobered quickly as she stared back at her mother.

"I'll be back mommy. I won't leave you for good."

The little girl threw her arms around her neck and Abby couldn't stop the tears anymore. Her little girl knew far too much and was far too grown up for the tender age of five. Sometimes she wondered if Sophie was the stronger of the two.

Abby pulled back and kissed her daughter's head, knowing that they had made the bus driver wait long enough already.

"Love ya, kiddo. And remember, no flying around school."

"Love you." The little girl smiled widely, hugged her momma one more time and ran excitedly to the bus. She turned one more time before climbing in to give an excited wave, at which Abby waved back while clicking a few pictures with her phone.

Patrick Jane was a snooper. Whether on a case or simply meeting someone new he felt at a great disadvantage if he didn't have enough details about their life and personality, within his first few conversations with them, to fill a book.

And this new agent made him feel like he was losing his touch, which he knew he wasn't! Nevertheless, the knowledge didn't keep that feeling at bay.

A whole month that woman had been working for the CBI and all he had gleaned had been from their first meeting and a few things Rigsby himself had let slip.

What he knew of her was thus:

Abigail Rigsby was the widow of the late Thomas Rigsby; source: the tattoo on her ring finger and Wayne's mention of family drama due to his brother's untimely passing.

Abigail Rigsby was a loving mother; source: too obvious.

Abigail Rigsby had a history of being either patronized, preyed on or protected; source: her height, job title and wardrobe choice. Being a significantly petite woman in her field most likely meant she felt she consistently had to prove to herself and others that she was a strong and capable woman. Her wardrobe of straightforward business attire and high heels portrayed a desire to be taken seriously and literally not be looked down at.

Abigail Rigsby, though trying to prove herself strong and capable, had a very feminine side; source: her subtle yet tasteful accessory and makeup choices.

Last but not least, Abigail Rigsby had most likely been very successful as an undercover agent; source: her nearly black eyes, which made it nearly impossible to read arguably the most telling of a persons features. She was petite and appeared almost fragile, which would make her the last person a perp would suspect to be ousted by. Her hair was cut extremely short which implied that she was unafraid to change her appearance as necessary. And lastly, keeping her guard up appeared to be second nature. In the few instances Jane had seen her, nearly every emotion that crossed her face had the subtle appearance of being very controlled and thought out, as if she couldn't physically show a reaction to something without thinking long and hard about it first. This with the minor exception of seeing her interact with her daughter upon their first meeting, which also told him a lot.

As impressive as his collection of observations may appear to the outsider, Patrick Jane should know more by now. There wasn't a person in this office he couldn't write a fairly accurate and extensive book on, not that he had any desire to. Except for her.

He could tell you that the security guard outside walked with a limp because of a horse-riding accident he had as a teenager. He could tell you the new receptionist had a thing for Cho. He could even tell you that Virgil's wife had him sleeping on the couch again.

But this woman presented a mystery, and that's why he found himself at her desk on Monday morning…snooping.

Jane had discovered long ago that you could get away with practically anything as long as you looked like you were supposed to be where you were. Walk with confidence and authority and you could get away with anything. That was the very reason Sam Bosco didn't even give him a glance as he passed except to roll his eyes at the consultant's presence.

Without a second thought, Jane opened the main front drawer of the woman in question's desk to see what he could glean from there. Completely empty. He couldn't help but cock an eyebrow in question. That was odd. Jane continued his search for information with the top of her desk, taking note of the severe lack of personality of the thing. Most agents by now would have displayed photos, CDs, plants, a photo-collage screen-saver—nothing. Her desk contained no outstanding information on the life of Abigail Rigsby. All he could tell was that the woman was very neat and extremely private.

The only thing she had to mark that the desk was even occupied was an oversized frame containing a photo-booth strip of she and her daughter.

He picked up the frame slowly and held it gently for inspection. The faces within the photos were silly but they told him nothing that he didn't already know. He already knew she was a loving mother and that she only truly let her guard down in front of her daughter. He couldn't help but smile though, bitter sweetly, as he imagined that he would look very similar if he and his daughter had taken pictures like these. Had she still been alive.

"Can I help you Mr. Jane?"

The consultant smiled widely at his good luck. The best way to see how a person truly is, is to encroach on their territory and watch the tiger bite.

He turned expectantly, grin still on his face, towards the primly dressed lady.

"No, I think I'm good. Just showing myself around." He gestured to the desk pointing with the frame. He was hoping his audacity might get a rise out of her like it had with so many others.

He might have been successful but he was still unsure. Her body-language was portraying that of someone who is guarded and thinking precisely about their actions, but the man couldn't read directly what emotions she was guarding. He could only suspect that it was mild irritation.

But a speculation is all that it was.

Abigail walked towards him, removing the frame from his hand and reverently placed it back in the exact same place it had been, down to the millimeter. It wasn't quite the breakthrough he was hoping for but sometimes these things take time and he was happy at anything he could grab at.

Precise, possessive, straight-forward and, he was happy to discover, fairly audacious herself. She hadn't even bothered asking what he was doing, asking to give the frame back, nothing. She had simply taken back what was hers, returning it to it's home; but it almost felt like a veiled threat to him. She gazed back up at him, and he could feel the threat rather than see it. A warning to back off and not dig too deep.

But oh did Jane love to dig.

"But, please, 'Mr. Jane' makes me sound like some uppity tight-wad. Just Jane-or Patrick. Your choice really. I'll respond to both. Or, feel free to make something up-I'm particularly fond of Saint Patty."

Abigail could see what he was doing and despite feeling a little like her territory was being encroached upon, she found it kind of funny. He was trying to make her feel as though she could drop her guard around him by suggesting they were on familiar terms, rambling as though to imply that he had dropped his own guard, which she knew very well that this was entirely untrue.

"JANE!"

The two were pulled out of their psychoanalysis' of each other by Agent Teresa Lisbon's sharp and reproachful voice. The woman was striding very determinedly towards her consultant, and he looked very much like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, distraught at his mischievous fun ruined, if only temporarily. Abigail couldn't help but let out a chuckle that returned his gaze to her own.

Starting to say something, he was interrupted by the strong but small hand at his elbow and Teresa apologizing for his actions.

"Morning Abby. I'm sorry if he's bothering you."

Lisbon cut her eyes admonishingly at him.

Jane looked quickly between the two.

Abby?! When did they get on a first name basis.

"It's no problem Teresa. I just got here myself. And don't worry about it. If need be, I can handle him," Abigail looked from the lead agent to the consultant and gave him a playful smirk, which if Jane was being completely honest, took him entirely off guard. But, of course, he wasn't being completely honest.

"Rigsby," the voice of Bosco resounded across the room causing the woman to look towards him expectantly. "We got a case. My office."

"Well," Abigail said returning to the two before her, "he's not one to surpass any sort of word quota. I better get. Thanks for checking on me Teresa."

Abby went to walk away before turning back around to pat Jane gently on the shoulder.

"See ya around Pat Pat," and with that she was gone.

Jane was grinning devilishly at her turning his own game on him.

"Pat Pat?" Lisbon asked as she led him back to the bullpen.

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><p><strong>Let me know what you think.<strong>

**No seriously. Review. It would add a smile to my face.**

**Peace. Please and thank you.**


	3. Chapter 3

**So glad to be posting this a mere 5 minutes before the season 5 premier! Stoked to say the least!**

**This is a lighter chapter but I'm really happy with the way it turned out. It practically wrote itself. Be sure to let me know what you think. **

**I of course do not own the Mentalist (sad day).**

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><p><em>Press my nose up to the glass around your heart,<em>

_I should've known I was weaker from the start._

_You'll build your walls and I will play my bloody part,_

_To tear, tear them down._

_-"Babel" Mumford and Sons_

* * *

><p>Chapter 3:<p>

_But do not ask the price I pay,_

_I must live with my quite rage._

_-Lover's Eyes_

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><p>"Ow! Lisbon, why all the man-handling?"<p>

Agent Lisbon continued to pull the consultant behind her until they reached her office, in which she shut the door quickly, turning on him.

"Jane, what are you doing?"

"Ugh – I haven't a clue what you're referring to," the lie flowed smoothly, and Lisbon recognized it easily for what it was. The agent crossed her arms and looked expectantly to her consultant, waiting for him to own up to it. And she was not to be disappointed.

Jane put on a face of shock and innocence that wasn't fooling anyone.

"Are you talking about that back there with the new Agent Rigsby?" He paused pointing lazily in the general direction of Sam Bosco's office, where the woman was presently being briefed on a case.

Jane shrugged nonchalantly. "Harmless investigating," he stated as though it was obvious.

"Wha—harmless investigating?!" her voice between a yell and a laugh.

"Jane, she's not a murder suspect. You can't just go snooping around her things as if-"

"Ah," he paused, raising his pointer finger for dramatic effect, "but how could we know that without having first investigated?" He then continued with a tone of offense. "And besides, you are blowing this all way out of proportion. I am completely innocent of all but taking a closer look at some old photographs! What's the big deal? I didn't ACTUALLY do anything wrong."

"The big deal is, Jane, with you, looking at old photos is the equivalent of rifling through someone's mail. Your perusal is never just curious, it's downright incriminating."

"So I'm no longer allowed to observe because I'm too good at it?"

"No Jane, it's because she is a coworker and not some prime suspect in a string of serial killings. And also," she added, getting more unnecessarily riled up, her voice getting louder and her words running together faster; but that was Teresa Lisbon for you. "You figuratively reading someone's mail leads to you actually reading someone's mail; and you actually reading someone's mail leads to me ACTUALLY getting stuck with a stack of paperwork for harassment charges with your name on them signed and delivered by Bosco! So I'm ACTUALLY just gonna stop you right there before you make a crap-load of a mess that I have to clean up!"

Jane looked taken aback and Lisbon found herself satisfied for a moment.

…too soon.

"You're ACTUALY going to use that word four times in one argument?"

The senior agent leaned back and set her signature "disgruntled at Jane" look on her face before saying, "You bet I am."

She blew out a thick breath, relaxing her shoulders and lifted her hands in surrender. "What did I do to deserve you?"

Jane shrugged, closing his eyes with a smug look on his face as if the statement was some sort of compliment.

"Well sometimes we receive blessings we don't really deserve-"

He was cut off by Lisbon swatting his arm, probably a little more forcefully than necessary.

"Ow!"

"Oh, shut up you big baby." And with that the agent twirled on her heel and returned to the bullpen, leaving the blonde man to just smile and rub his arm in her wake.

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><p>Jane walked leisurely through the halls of the CBI building, dipping his tea bag in and out of his favorite teacup, waiting for the drink to be just right.<p>

It was six thirty in the evening and the place was nearly deserted, the only people remaining being Lisbon's team (putting the final touches to the paperwork of a recently closed case) and Bosco's team (putting in some overtime interrogations, trying to wrap up a case that's had them in the loop for weeks now.)

He was nearly to interrogation room 2 when he heard a commotion come from the inside that sounded a lot like chairs falling and bodies scuffling. Quickly after, the doors to both the interrogation and viewing rooms flew open.

Immerging from interrogation room 2, Abigail Rigsby looked a little worse for ware and a lot disgruntled, shaking her hand out as if to fling off a painful feeling.

As she exited, the rest of her team moved quickly from the viewing room to the room she had previously occupied, cutting past her. Bosco trailed behind and before entering, turned to the woman.

"Great job in there. Get that taken care of," he said pointing to her hand, "and then I'll need a quick statement from you."

With tight lips, she nodded, and turned to retreat to the break room after the blinded door had closed behind him.

After a moment, Jane followed her into the break room. He was going in there anyway.

He found Abigail, shoes off, standing on the tips of her toes trying to get a good view of the higher shelves of the cabinets. He couldn't help but think how cute it was that she couldn't quite reach the top shelf no matter how hard she would try.

After observing her struggle and futile search for a first-aid kit, he presumed, Jane threw away his tea-bag in the trash can under the sink and while he was down there, grabbed the kit, placing it loudly on the counter.

Abigail turned quickly at the sound and Jane took note of her disheveled hair and busted lip. She paid him no heed as she eyed the kit, strode across the room to stand right next to him and began looking through it's contents before pulling out what she needed.

"You can't do it alone."

That got her attention. While she had been going through the first aid kit, Patrick had turned his body towards her, stepping way beyond the bounds of her personal space. She didn't seem to notice though, as she had turned her face and eyes toward his own, looking at him intently, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, and Patrick was pleasantly surprised to see a little emotion expressed there, though not so pleasantly that what he saw was a hint of distress.

Patrick Jane couldn't help but to smile just a little; he had gotten a reaction.

He brought up his hand to his own lip and tapped it,

"Your lip and hand: you won't be able to do it alone," he stated as though his message had been obvious the first time.

Surprisingly to the consultant, Abigail smiled at his cunning. Well played. She was a little upset, however, with how well his statement was used to make her drop her guard.

Without a word, just a small grin, she grabbed the consultants hand from his side and plopped the bandages and antiseptic wipes into it, then turned and sat at the table, waiting on him.

Despite being put out at herself, she was happy to see that she could repay him the favor as it took him a minute to register what she had done, glancing quickly from his hand to her. She cocked her eyebrow at him before he came to sit in front of her and took her hand.

Jane examined her knuckles closely, rotating her hand and letting his fingertips brush lightly along her palm. It was subtle enough to not be taken the wrong way, but direct enough, he hoped, to disarm the anger and tension he felt radiating from her. And she would never admit to herself or anyone, but it gave her shivers.

Jane still hadn't completely decided what he wanted to do with her yet. Did he want to wind her up so tight that she would eventually snap, revealing her true self, or did he want to loosen her up to where (he hoped) she would naturally come out from behind her walls? He figured it would be quite the challenge either way, but that is what made it so rewarding.

The consultant grabbed the antiseptic and got to work.

"Was it worth the busted knuckles?"

And with that he received his first words from her that night, along with a sly smile.

"I got a confession," she said simply.

He smiled and nodded his head, impressed.

"Good for you. And, was that before or after you punched him in the face?"

She laughed at this. "Before."

Jane looked up at her, waiting for her to continue.

She shrugged her shoulders playfully, "Well I don't normally go around slugging suspects in the jaw but when they panic and run after an accidental confession to murder…a girl's gotta do…" the rest of the colloquialism went unsaid.

Jane grinned "…what a girl's gotta do," He finished for her. "'You should see the other guy' huh?"

She smiled again and bit her lip, forgetting for a moment the split until she felt the sharp pain and grimaced.

"And how, prey tell, did you get that lovely little cut?" Jane asked pointing to her lip.

"Elbow," she said, her hand hovering shakily above her mouth.

Jane finished wrapping her hand, giving it a pat, then moved his chair even closer to hers, to her discomfort, where their knees were touching.

He moved her hand from her face and leaned in, significantly closer than he had to be (the better to examine your reactions my dear), and began cleaning her lip. One hand cupping her chin, and the other very delicately dabbing the bloodied spot.

Abigail knew what he was doing. Wayne had warned her plenty about what to expect from the consultant. That warning: expect what you don't expect. As vague of a warning as it was, it was extremely helpful, and she would not give Patrick Jane the chance to see her squirm. No matter how close to her face he was. And boy was he close.

She was ever thankful that she had taught herself to control her outward reactions so well (a necessity for undercover work).

Abigail could feel the blonde man's breath on her face, and as hard as she tried, and as much as she resented him at times, she did not go unaffected by it. But she would never let him see that.

"Jane," she started, her voice almost a whisper, her tone low.

"Yeah?" said Jane, pretending to be in deep concentration, dabbing at her lip, but was carefully watching the muscles in her face for a tell. A twitch in her cheek, a subtle blink, a quirk of the mouth, anything that could help him read her in the future. Nothing. Complete control.

"Are you trying to make me feel uncomfortable?"

Jane looked up into her eyes at this question, but seemed to realize for himself for the first time just how close they were. Their faces were so close he had to shift his own eyes around her whole face to take in her full expression.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked innocently and shrugged. "You can't tell."

"Would you prefer for me to just come out and say it then?"

"Well if you really feel-"

She interrupted him with a smile, "You're making me uncomfortable."

Jane couldn't help but give a smile of his own at this. He couldn't help but appreciate her directness. It spoiled his fun but a direct woman, he found, was delightfully unique.

The blonde man finished cleaning her lip and was about to lean back when they heard someone clearing their throat from the doorway.

Both the consultant and the agent turned their attention quickly to Wayne Rigsby standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Hope-I'm not-interrupting anything…" the large man stuttered out looking entirely uncomfortable by the situation.

"Well actually Abigail and I were just getting to know-" Patrick was cut short but the remaining bandages being flung towards his face.

The woman spoke up for both of them, "You didn't interrupt anything Wayne," she said giving Jane a murderous look before turning her attention back to her brother-in-law. "What's up?"

"Well, the team's about to go out for some pizza and I wanted to extend the invite."

Abigail looked at her watch. "Oh gosh, Wayne!" She said, just realizing what time it was. She stood up and walked over to him. "I would love to but I still have to give Bosco my statement, and I'm already running late for picking up Sophie from your mom's. Rain check?"

She put her hand on his arm and Patrick watched as Rigsby leaned down slightly so she could stand on her toes and plant a kiss to his cheek.

"Yeah, alright," the tall man said. His sister-in-law smiled at him before turning and walking out of the break room, leaving Rigsby and Jane without even a goodbye.

"Well," Jane started, getting Rigsby's attention. The consultant was still in his seat, leaning back, legs crossed.

"She's something isn't she?"

Wayne gave Patrick a threatening look and strode out of the room leaving a smiling Patrick Jane in his wake.

* * *

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